


Heavy Hitters

by Racey



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22279831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racey/pseuds/Racey
Summary: Grimmjow rediscovers his passion for professional boxing and meets a few interesting characters along the way. Will be eventual GrimmIchi.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 9





	1. Reunited

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

"Suck harder."

Wet, slurping noises filled the small, living room, bouncing off of dingy, off-white walls that were cracked and peeling. A seventeen-inch television sat across from him on a black milk crate. A WEC match was playing, the commentator's excited voice blaring loudly from the speakers, while he sat reclined against a mud-brown, suede couch, a blonde head bobbing enthusiastically in his lap. Off to the right side of the couch, a white, standing fan oscillated back and forth, weakly blowing hot air around.

He reached forward and plucked a large can of brew from the low, wooden coffee table before bringing it to his lips and sneering afterward at the overabundance of bitterness. He couldn't wait until his next pay-off, tired of settling for ghetto swill and pretending it was luxury. He rested his hand beside him on the couch and glanced down at the head still performing between his legs.

Was it terrible that he felt absolutely nothing?

Fisting a handful of the soft, blonde locks, he tugged roughly, forcing the head to come up and off his dick, dark eyes confused, "Stop."

"Why? You told me to do it harder-"

"Yeah, well, ya obviously weren't doin' such a great job, er else ya'd still be down there, ne?"

The blonde scowled and swatted his hand away before rising to her feet and straightening her clothes. She glared down at him and after a brief moment, turned her nose up and went to the front door, stride stiff and pissed off.

"You know, one of these days, someone's gonna kick your ass for being such a dick," the blonde snapped as she slipped her shoes on and threw the door open.

"Yeah, yeah. Ya don' necessarily gotta tell me how awesome I am. I already know that. Now, get the fuck out."

The blonde pursed her lips but was smart enough not to argue. A few more seconds of glaring and she was gone through the door, slamming it shut behind her and making a framed picture crash to the hardwood floor.

"Fuckin' bitch," he growled, glancing down at his already softening member.

He didn't even bother tucking himself away as his attention was once again focused on the two men trying to legally kill each other in a man-made cage. He loved this kind of fighting, but the big bucks were in regular old professional boxing, which meant he would have to suck it up and go for the weaker game if he wanted to get paid. It was still fighting, but the rules were more stiff and everything was a lot more technical.

 _Whatever_.

He would do it simply because money was fucking tighter than a pussy and the street fights weren't paying like they used to. Pro boxing didn't pay off much either until you reached the upper ranks, not that he would have a problem in that area. He was fast, strong and hit harder than the average male. Besides, he had practically been raised on pro boxing before his father had passed. He'd literally breathed it.

His old man used to tell him all the time, "Start with yer basics. Jab, jab, jab! That'll open 'im up fer the straight. Don' ferget yer combinations! One-two! One-two! Left, short uppercut, then follow wit' the right uppercut! Keep yer guard up and weave yer head! Polish yer in-step! Body! Go fer the body!"

He smiled in memory of the man that had introduced him to the world of fighting and pro boxing at the tender age of six. His mother had nearly given herself an aneurism yelling at his Pop, while the older, raven-haired, blue-eyed man had merely laughed and explained how he was teaching his only son to be a fucking man.

 _God, he missed his father_.

He ran a hand through his hair and tipped his head back, resting it on the back of the couch with a deep sigh.

" _Pop, I wanna be strong like you!"_

_Emeric Jaegerjaques grinned, his smile wide and infectious, "Ya gotta work hard fer it! Ya sure yer ready ta do that?"_

_He nodded vigorously and latched onto the leg of his father's dark-blue work pants, "Yeah, Pop, I'm ready!"_

_Emeric stooped down to his level, his dark-blue, short-sleeved, button-up work shirt tight across his chest, "I'm gonna teach ya how ta fight, Grimmjow," he said seriously, his sea-blue eyes equally solemn._

" _Really? Ma won't get mad?"_

" _Ya wanna be strong?"_

_He bit his lip, contemplating the consequences and decided the pros far outweighed the cons, "Yes!"_

" _Good. Now, the first rule a'fightin' is discipline. Ya wanna be a good fighter, ya gotta have discipline."_

" _...Pop, what's dis-lip-in?"_

_Emeric gave a great bark of laughter and hoisted Grimmjow into the air, resting him over his broad shoulder, "Yer gonna learn sooner er later, kid, and when ya do, yer gonna be a better fighter than yer Pop ever was."_

" _Ya think so?"_

" _I know so."_

Grimmjow scrubbed a large, calloused hand over his face and blew out another breath. He still had yet to prove his Pop right. His old man was big on boxing; he loved the rules and the beauty of the technicalities. Grimmjow had veered off from that road a long while back, more comfortable with the barbarism of street fights and brawling.

At times, he could still hear his father in his head, scolding him and telling him to get back to his basics. He would never be a complete, well-rounded fighter unless he did so, but after the old man had died in that car accident, Grimmjow had never been the same. He'd been too young to understand that his father hadn't lied to him, hadn't purposely broken his promise of watching his only son rise to the top of the professional boxing world, in the process becoming a great fighter.

He'd been eleven when his Pop died.

Street fighting and brawling had swiftly followed, the world of pro boxing becoming nothing but a shadow.

Grimmjow leaned forward and grabbed his pack of cigarettes, shaking one free before snatching up his lighter and igniting the stick. He inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds and exhaled with a sigh. His Pop would chop his fucking balls off if he was alive and saw him smoking. He growled angrily and stabbed the barely smoked cigarette into the large, glass ashtray on the coffee table, surging from the couch afterward, the cigarette still smoldering, pale gray smoke curling towards the ceiling.

He stalked to his tiny bedroom and shoved himself into a pair of silver basketball shorts. He was going for a run and maybe to find a suitable boxing gym.

**XxxxxxxxX**

Grimmjow felt like he was dying after running only three blocks. The heat was offensive, making the pavement hot enough to fry bacon and causing heat waves to shimmer in the distance. He stopped at the next corner and bent at the waist, clutching his knees and cursing his failed stamina. Straightening his back, he ripped off his white, short-sleeved t-shirt and almost threw it to the ground and stomped on it.

_It's too hot for this shit!_

He ran the back of his wrist across his brow and took a few more, deep, open-mouthed breaths before sticking his hands on his hips and shucking off. His legs were wobbly, shaking embarrassingly and his entire body burned and ached. He was so out of shape, he may as well have been an invalid. The sun certainly wasn't helping matters, beating at his back like a slave driver with a whip.

He couldn't even afford a can of juice from the vending machine he was about to pass and that just pissed him off even more. He was extremely close to assaulting the light-blue machine, when a deep voice behind him, stopped him in his tracks.

"That was very random, Hisagi," it commented.

Grimmjow tried not to appear as if he was eavesdropping, but the voice was extremely familiar. He just, for the life of him, couldn't place it at the moment.

"I'm a random kinda guy, Kensei."

_Kensei? Kensei Muguruma?_

Grimmjow cut his eyes to the side, studying the two men walking by. One was around 5'10", with short, spiky ebony hair, dark eyes and the strangest tattoos. Why the fuck would anyone permanently ink the number 69 on the left side of their face? Not to mention the tattooed collar around his neck that leaned heavily on the BDSM side. His body was muscular and lean and he wore a pair of red, warm-up shorts, a small label at the bottom of the left leg advertising Luisenbarn Boxing Gym.

 _What a coincidence_.

He topped them off with a black wife beater and black running shoes. There was a bandage that covered the bridge of his nose and ran under his left eye and he had two long scars, slicing down the right side of his face. He appeared battle worn, but determined.

Grimmjow trained his eyes on the raven-haired man's companion and grinned at the sight of his old brawling buddy. They'd been in numerous fights together until Kensei had been sent away by his mother and Grimmjow had never seen the guy again. Now, here he was, strolling down the street as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Kensei hadn't really changed much in appearance, aside from the silver hoop in his left eyebrow and the two silver ear cuffs residing on his upper left ear. He had gleaming silver hair and eyebrows, his eyes were a mix of honey and thundercloud and he too wore the red, warm-up shorts advertising Luisenbarn Boxing Gym. He wore his with a white, sleeveless t-shirt and white running shoes. His body was still fighter-sculpted and he currently had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts.

Kensei and his friend moved past him and he followed them with his body, grin spreading as he called out, "Muguruma, ya bitch!"

Kensei didn't turn, instead pausing his stride as his dark-haired friend whirled around, a deep scowl marring his brow as if he were looking for trouble. Grimmjow waited impatiently for the silver-haired punk to speak and almost laughed out loud when Kensei slowly, purposely held up his middle finger.

"Jaegerjaques?" a deep voice with a roughened edge floated over a broad shoulder.

"The fuck ya been? Under a rock?" Grimmjow continued as he neared his old friend.

Kensei finally turned to face him, a sideways smirk tilting his wide mouth, "You could say that," he rumbled, eyes devilish and amused all at the same time.

Kensei's buddy decided to join the conversation with a dumb ass question, "You know this guy, Kensei?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes before giving the kid a deadpan stare. Was he really that stupid? He opened his mouth to thoroughly ruin the boy's life, when Kensei cleared his throat, a stern glance being tossed in his direction. "Don't. Your mouth is known to cause mass destruction and he's really a good kid."

Grimmjow pursed his lips and had to literally swallow the retort that had been partying on his tongue. He wiped a stray bead of sweat that had been inching down the side of his face before getting to the good stuff, "Where's this Luisenbarn Boxing Gym?"

Two silver brows shot upwards nearly flying off the other man's forehead, "Why? You finally thinkin' 'bout gettin' back into boxing?" Kensei inquired and rightfully so. Grimmjow was surprised at himself for the ridiculously spur of the moment decision.

"Maybe."

"Shit."

Kensei's eyes were wide and disbelieving, making Grimmjow furrow his brows, disgruntled. "Don' have a fuckin' cow er nothin'," he muttered.

His old friend shrugged and stuffed his hands back into his pockets, "Come find out. That's only if you're serious, though. Barragan doesn't take any shit and you, my friend, come with tons of it."

"Fuck you."

Kensei chuckled, a deep throaty rumble that was nostalgic and infectious. He turned his back and began walking off, the dark-haired baka falling into step beside him, a wary expression on his sharp features.

He had every reason to be wary of him.

Grimmjow hung his shirt around his neck and trailed behind the two men, his thoughts going to what he was about to get himself into. He hadn't been serious about boxing since his Pop had passed and even though he knew the basics like he knew his nut sack, he was still sort of apprehensive about the whole thing. His main reason for not pursuing boxing in the first place was because his father wouldn't be there to see him become a great fighter, which he had no doubt he would become.

Yeah, he had an ego the size of the sun, but he could back it up.

They walked on for about three blocks, sweat trickling down the sides of his face and down the middle of his back, making him completely agitated. After the three blocks, Kensei and his idiot made a left and they walked for three more blocks. Grimmjow was just about to snarl something really crass and uncouth when Kensei stopped in front of a large, gray, stone building, sporting a huge, tinted window that spanned the width of the front of the structure. A sign over the window proclaimed "Luisenbarn Boxing Gym" in dark, ancient kanji.

Grimmjow quirked his lips and peered into the tinted window, one hand visoring his eyes to ward off the glare of the sun. What he saw was impressive. The spacious room was filled with different types of guys in different sections. There were two men sparring in the ring in the middle of the room, all five heavy bags were occupied, as well as the three speed bags. An older man – obviously a trainer – was working with a waifish looking guy on the punch mitts. Grimmjow smirked at that. The guy didn't look to be more than 120 lbs. soaking wet.

"Oi, you comin' in?" Kensei called from the big, gray double doors that led inside.

Grimmjow could feel the AC putting in work all the way from where he stood and nodded enthusiastically. Hell yeah, he was getting out of this boiling pot called outside. Kensei's buddy had already gone inside, leaving Kensei and himself to follow behind him. Once they stepped inside and the doors hissed shut, Grimmjow nearly collapsed in relief. The wonderful air instantly began cooling his skin and drying his sweat.

Whoever created the air conditioner was a fucking genius and he wanted to kiss their fucking ring.

The noise of punch mitts, heavy bags and speed bags being hit, as well as the sound of good old male exertion had Grimmjow almost dancing in place, adrenaline flooding his system like a ruptured dam. A wide grin split his face in two and his eyes flitted from one section of the gym to the other, unable to settle on any specific spot. He was in hog heaven. He really hadn't realized how much he'd missed the environment until now.

The sight of boxing gloves and headgear had his heart doing the _Macarena_. He was beyond excited and a bit oblivious to his friend's amused expression. Grimmjow was wringing his hands in anticipation, his mouth damned near watering at the thought of being able to tape up and slam his fists into something.

Shit, he was getting hard.

Kensei lay a hand on his still slightly damp shoulder and his mouth lifted into a small smirk. "I take it you're anxious to get started."

Grimmjow grinned, "Is a dog's dick pink?"

Kensei howled with laughter and slapped his shoulder, "I'll go get the old man so he can look at you and see whether he approves or not," he said and sauntered off towards an office located in the corner of the gym.

Grimmjow nodded and pulled his shirt from around his neck, slipping into it before resting himself against the wall by the window. His eyes greedily devoured his surroundings as he savored the smell of sweat and leather. His nostrils flared and he grinned elatedly.

He fucking loved this shit.

Five minutes later, he was still getting reacquainted with the atmosphere, when Kensei approached him, followed by an older man with all-white hair, including his eyebrows and mustache. His eyes were black as tar, his skin aged like a fine wine, but his aura was fierce and strictly no-nonsense. He was wearing a red, short-sleeved polo, the gym's logo over the left breast pocket, a pair of khaki pants and white tennis shoes. Although he was older, his chest was still broad and appeared firm, his arms still muscular and toned.

He stood in front of Grimmjow, his head cocked to the side a fraction, his ebony eyes calculating as they ran over him from head to foot and back again. "How much you weigh?" he asked in a gravelly voice, his tone biting.

Grimmjow frowned. He didn't like this old geezer already. "One sixty-five," he grunted.

"Height," the geezer continued.

"Six two."

"Hehn!"

"The fuck does that mean?" he snapped, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"Ya got any fightin' experience?" the old man went on as if Grimmjow hadn't said one word.

He ground his teeth together before forcing a "yes" through. He balled his hands into fists and wrinkled his nose, his brow drawn together in a deep scowl.

"Well, ya certainly got a good face for it."

_Huh?_

"Oi, old man-"

" _What?_ " the old man snapped, his eyes suddenly furious.

Grimmjow grinned wickedly and took a step forward, "I said old ma-oof!"

He was suddenly on his knees, a searing burn having taken his breath away and singed his abdomen. Kensei howled with laughter, while the old man stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed and snowy mustache twitching. Grimmjow held his gut, clenched his teeth and swore vengeance on the old fart that had moved faster than he could blink. His eyes were watering and his nose was stinging as if he were trying to hold back tears.

What the fuck had that even been?

He was fucking humiliated.

Kensei stepped forward, placed a hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry. Barragan's fast for an older man."

Was that supposed to make him feel better?

Grimmjow tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled choke. This was absolutely ridiculous. It didn't matter how off guard he'd been taken, he wasn't supposed to be in this much pain. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, the ache in his gut gradually starting to subside.

"Your gut's too soft. Do more situps and come back," the old fart named Barragan stated and walked off.

"Wha?" Grimmjow gasped, slowly placing one foot against the floor, readying himself to stand. "What's he sayin'? My gut ain't fuckin' soft!"

Kensei arched a brow and tried to help him up, but he wouldn't be degraded that way. He still had his pride goddammit. He made it to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly, but he made it all the same. He finally managed to catch his breath and realization sunk in.

Not only was his gut soft, but _he_ was soft.

He'd let himself go and this was the result. He'd been sneaked by a seventy-year old man.

How embarrassing.

That was it. He was going to whip himself into shape, come back and prove that old man wrong.


	2. Shape Up

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

_I get up again_

_With my wounded body_

_Tomorrow's the only way to go_

_-Saber Tiger-_

XOXOXO

_Two-ninety-eight_.

 _Two-ninety-nine_.

 _Three hundred_.

Grimmjow collapsed onto his back, his breathing harsh and stomach on fire. Getting into shape was never fun when doing so almost from scratch. A couple of years ago, three hundred sit-ups would have been considered nothing, but now...it made him want to kick his own ass.

He rested in that position for a while, staring at the ceiling as he lay on the hardwood floor behind his couch, feet tucked under the edge of the brown furniture. He would catch his breath and start a series of squats and lunges before doing a few sets of push-ups. He'd gone for a run about an hour ago and it hadn't been pretty, let him assure you. He'd been fighting to breathe after only five blocks, not to mention, battling a persistent stitch in his side that only served to make breathing even more difficult.

 _This is all my fault_.

He'd been lazy when he should have been keeping up with some sort of training, if not for boxing, then at least for the street fighting. His body wasn't accustomed to strict routines and harsh regimens anymore. As Grimmjow rose from the floor, a realization ripped through him at the speed of light and with the force of a bullet.

Fighting was all about discipline.

 _Just like Pop said_.

He chuckled under his breath and headed into the kitchen in search of a bottle of water. He was thirsty and probably extremely close to being dehydrated, which, in this heat, was absolutely unacceptable. His thoughts immediately went to the old man from the gym: Barragan. His words – well, not just his words – had been the kick in the ass that got him on the road to redemption. Grimmjow yanked open his fridge and retrieved a bottle of spring water before making his way back into the sitting room, where he flopped onto the couch and chugged deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing enthusiastically.

Grimmjow wouldn't admit it aloud, but Barragan seemed to be smarter than he looked. Grunting with distaste, he leaned himself back against the cushions of the couch, closing his eyes in the process. He hated swallowing his pride, even if it was inwardly, just to admit that the old man had not only bested him, but had pointed out his flaw within a matter of seconds. No one had put him in his place so thoroughly since his old man.

A sudden buzz sounded throughout the small apartment, making him jump and causing a splash of water to fall onto his chest, the cold liquid soothing. Grimmjow frowned at the front door, wondering who the fuck it could be; he hadn't had a visitor since he'd kicked Seri to the curb a few weeks back. He rose from the couch after setting his water on the low, wooden coffee table and made his way to the door, his stomach protesting vehemently at the movement. Once he threw open the heavy, steel portal, his nose wrinkled in confusion.

"What the hell?" he grunted.

Kensei grinned and pushed his way into the apartment, his ash-gold eyes dancing with mischief. "I came to whip your sorry ass into shape. Barragan's orders," his old friend stated.

Grimmjow slowly closed the door, his right hand going to the back of his head. Absently scratching, he considered Kensei. "That old man told ya ta do this?" he asked, trying to make sense of seeing his old fighting partner in his home.

Kensei nodded as his eyes took in his surroundings. "Christ, Jaegerjaques. Do you _ever_ clean up?"

Grimmjow shrugged and made his way back to the couch, his bottle of water forgotten on the coffee table. A thought suddenly occurred to him and the dawning made him realize that that was probably the main thing confusing him about his old friend's visit. "How the hell ya know where I live?" he asked, lowering himself onto the hot furniture before turning his eyes in Kensei's direction.

"It ain't that hard to find you now that I know you're still around," Kensei replied, following in Grimmjow's steps, but perching himself on the arm of the couch.

"Who told ya?"

Kensei hesitated before answering. "Yachiru."

Grimmjow growled under his breath at the mention of his younger sister's name. He had always considered her nothing but a burden and a stain on his father's name. Call him unreasonable, but he'd thought the fact that his mom had gone and had a baby with another guy only a year after his Pop had passed, was pretty fucked up. It was like she'd spit on his memory. After that, Grimmjow hadn't said more than two words to his mother and he always referred to Yachiru as "it", never "her", or "she."

As soon as he'd been old enough to move out on his own, he had. It had been sheer torture living under the same roof as "Yachiru, the eye sore", but it had been even worse when his mom had finally moved in Yachiru's father, some pink-haired asshole that had a serious OCD issue. That had been the final straw, in Grimmjow's opinion.

"How the hell does she know where I live?" he asked, not remembering telling the little brat anything.

Kensei shrugged and picked at an invisible speck of lint on his red, Luisenbarn Gym shorts, his gaze averted. "I didn't ask all that. I just went to your old house lookin' for you and she gave me this address."

"Ya know I don' like that kid."

"Yeah, I know."

The silence that followed was heavy and hung suspended in the air like puppets on strings. Grimmjow sat with a deep scowl creasing his brow and Kensei just sat, his expression drawn with unease. Shaking his head and sighing exasperatedly, Grimmjow broke the unnecessary silence. "So what does the old man want ya ta do with me specifically?"

Kensei appeared relieved at the change of topic, his face lighting up and resuming its previous mischievous glow. He reached into the left pocket of his shorts and withdrew a folded, white sheet of paper. Grimmjow frowned, but said nothing as he watched Kensei unfold the paper and hand it to him. A brief hesitation and Grimmjow grabbed the slip from the grinning, silver-haired man's hand, suspicion creeping up on him.

He glanced down at the sheet and his frown disappeared, replaced by disbelief. What he saw looked a little something like this:

Three Month Schedule

5:00 am – Warm up stretching

5:30 am – 2 mile run

7:00 am – Light breakfast

8:00 am – Calisthenics

12:00 pm – Lunch (nothing heavy)

1:00 pm – Weight training

3:00 pm – 2 mile run

5:00 pm – Cool down stretching

Note: No heavy food, maintain diet and drink plenty of water and electrolytes. Follow schedule everyday and break on weekends. Be as strict as possible, Kensei. I want to see results! I'll send the trainer by at 6 in the evenings to check on progress. Failure to adhere to this schedule will result in non-admittance to the gym. I don't accept weaklings.

~Luisenbarn

By the end of the note, Grimmjow was practically manic with anger. His jaw and left eyebrow twitching furiously, he gave Kensei his attention. Kensei's expression of trying to hold back raucous laughter, only spiked Grimmjow's anger and made him want to punch something.

 _Hard_.

"Kensei, what the _fuck_ is this?" he snarled, upper lip curling back the more he thought of what had been written on the paper he still clutched in his hand.

Kensei cracked a small grin and ran a large hand through his gleaming silver locks. "What's it look like?"

"I know what the fuck it looks like, but that ain't what I asked ya! I hope ya don' think I'm gonna do all a'this bullshit! I'll be dead by the end of the week!"

Kensei doubled over on his perch on the arm of the couch, his arm cradling his stomach as he guffawed noisily. Grimmjow didn't much appreciate being laughed at, so he leaned over and punched his friend's thigh to gain his attention. The loud laughter was abruptly cut off as Kensei straightened and stared back at him in shock. Grimmjow grinned wolfishly at the sight of "what the hell?" written all over the silver-haired man's face.

Instead of questioning him, Kensei leaned over and punched his shoulder and even though Grimmjow was obviously the more powerful of the two, the sharpness of Kensei's punch had left him astonished as he grabbed it and held it, trying to stave off the throbbing. They sat glaring at each other for a few beats until Grimmjow blew out a breath.

"Since when ya hit like that?"

Kensei grinned proudly, the previous scowl he wore disappearing in a flash. "Barragan taught me."

Grimmjow nodded, suspecting as much. The sharpness had been reminiscent of the hit he'd sustained by the old man, only not as lethal. Barragan obviously had years to polish his technique. Grimmjow ran a hand over his face and accepted his fate. "Fine, but don' think I'm gonna be able ta keep up wit' all a'this right away!" he snapped, embarrassed at the admittance.

Kensei shrugged. "Don't worry. I don't expect you to be able to keep up for at least two to three weeks under this kind of training. Actually, I'm surprised that Barragan is assigning you such a strict schedule. He's never done that with a newbie before."

"Oi, I ain't a fuckin' newbie!"

"Well, to him, you are. Doesn't matter that you _used_ to box and know everything about the sport there was to know. He's only concerned with the here and now and the sight you presented him with was obviously unacceptable, or else we wouldn't be going through this, ne?"

Grimmjow frowned, wanting to deny it, but he couldn't.

Didn't mean he was going to admit it, though.

Kensei abruptly stood and made his way to the kitchen. Grimmjow heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and a few paces of silence before Kensei was shouting from the small space. "Where the hell is your food? And why don't you have anything to drink?"

By the end of his last question, Kensei had reemerged from the kitchen, a deep frown marring his face. Grimmjow cracked a feral grin. "I'm fuckin' broke."

Kensei lowered his eyes and shook his head, clearly speechless with the blunt reply.

**XxxxxX**

"I don' need a fuckin' babysitter, Kensei," Grimmjow growled as they maneuvered through the aisles of the local supermarket.

Kensei dropped a box of some type of healthy breakfast cereal into the cart Grimmjow was pushing and Grimmjow neatly grabbed it and tossed it back onto the shelf from whence it had come. Kensei glared at him and sucked his teeth. "Grimmjow, you have to-"

"Fuck that. I ain't eating somethin' only squirrels would eat." He retrieved the box Kensei had initially grabbed and studied the front of it. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me! This shit's got more nuts than a pecan pie. An' who gives a fuck about fiber? I ain't constipated," he grunted tossing the box back on the shelf again. An elderly woman with long, pale gray hair and dark blue eyes shot him a disapproving look and Grimmjow glared right back, unfazed. "Somethin' wrong? Need help finding the salt-free shit?"

The woman jerked as if he'd smacked her. "Why, the nerve..." she uttered before hobbling up the aisle.

Grimmjow shook his head and continued pushing the metal cart, ignoring the chastising glare coming from his friend. When Kensei stopped in front of the cart, essentially blocking Grimmjow's path, he was forced to lock eyes with the silver-haired man. "What?" he growled. "I hope yer not about ta lecture me."

Kensei blinked, maintaining his glare. "Don't talk to people that way. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Why dontcha tell that old broad not ta look at me like that? She fuckin' started it."

"How old are you again?"

"Fuck off," he grunted, his attention being captured by something bright red, yellow and green. When he noticed his favorite cereal, he grabbed two boxes and threw them into the cart. Kensei, swift as a snake, scooped the boxes out of the cart and tucked them neatly onto the shelf. Grimmjow growled like a dog at the nerve of the guy. "What the fuck ya doin'?"

"You're supposed to eat light and healthy, not try to send yourself to an early grave by consuming vast amounts of sugar," Kensei admonished, his voice the way one would scold a small child.

Grimmjow grabbed one of the boxes, but Kensei had already anticipated that move and had a hand on the end of it. They tugged a few times, until Grimmjow gave in. He knew a stalemate when he saw one. "Why don't we negotiate?" he offered cordially. Kensei narrowed his sandy-brown eyes, but didn't respond. "I get my Lucky Charms _and_ a box a'that other crap ya call cereal. Deal?"

Kensei remained silent, his expression that of someone weighing his options. Finally, he nodded and let go of the box of Lucky Charms. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and dropped the box into his cart, conveniently forgetting to grab the other kind of cereal. Unfortunately, Kensei had anticipated this as well. He grabbed the cardboard and squirrel food cereal and dropped it into the cart with a smug grin before turning away and meandering down the aisle.

Grimmjow wanted to kick his friend in the back of the head, but decided he wasn't in the mood to go to jail again.

Grimmjow's stomach rumbled unpleasantly when they happened upon the frozen section. The assortment of frozen dinners and pizzas made his mouth water. He couldn't cook to save his life, so the invention of the TV dinner was a miraculous thing. He went to grab a few boxes of T.G.I. Friday's meals, but his hand was slapped away from the handle of the glass and metal door. Whirling in Kensei's direction, he growled again, wondering why the fuck he couldn't get what he wanted.

"I remember your utter failure at cooking, so I'll cook. You can't eat this kind of stuff anymore, Grimmjow," Kensei said.

His face slackening with angered frustration, he slammed his hand against the glass door, making a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and matching eyes glance at him fearfully. Grimmjow ignored her in favor of cursing his friend out. "Ya can't be fuckin' serious, Kensei! I can't live like that! I'd wither up and float away by tomorrow!"

Kensei barked a laugh, his eyes glinting. "Stop over-exaggerating," he said through a chuckle. "You'll be fine and in time, you'll even get used to it."

Grimmjow clenched his fists, refusing to be moved on the issue. He wasn't some eighty-year old man in need of monitoring. He was a twenty-five year old man in his prime and if he wanted to eat frozen sodium, then by God, he would fucking do it. "I'm getting' a DiGiorno, at least. I don' give a horse's nut what ya say, either," he grumbled, marching past Kensei and abandoning the cart.

Kensei snorted and reluctantly followed behind him. Grimmjow was on a mission. He was going to get a pepperoni DiGiorno and he would savor the hell out of it. He was going to get a six-pack of good beer to go with his feast and if Kensei said anything or tried to stop him, things would get very physical. Plain and simple.

Grimmjow finally approached the section containing the pizza he was searching for and once he retrieved the one he wanted, he hugged it to his chest, prepared to fight the devil himself if he had to. Kensei stared for a few seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter. Grimmjow was confused, but also wasn't about to put his prize back.

"This is mine," he growled, stating his claim, just in case Kensei didn't get it.

Kensei couldn't stop his laughter for the next two minutes, leaving Grimmjow with no other option but to stare at him and wait out the giggles. Once the silver-haired man sobered, he straightened his back and gave Grimmjow an amused look, his lips quirked into a half-smirk. "Go for it," was all he said.

Grimmjow nodded and tossed his treasure into the cart before ambling off down the aisle again.

At least he was able to get his fucking pizza.

**XxxxxX**

Grimmjow stared at the contents of his refrigerator morosely. He couldn't even fathom the last time he'd seen so much food, but sadly, it was all the shit he hated. He hated green shit and the fact that Kensei had damn near filled the cold, metal box with the shit, depressed the hell out of him. He didn't like certain vegetables and had been quite adamant about his dislike for okra. He couldn't stand that shit. It looked like snot and boogers mixed together with celery. Disgusting. How people could eat that shit amazed him. Just the sight of it made his stomach turn and made him involuntarily gag.

Not only that, but he was very strict about eating meat. He loved beef, chicken, pork, seafood, all of it, but Kensei had restricted him to fish and the occasional piece of chicken from the looks of the freezer. Grimmjow huffed a breath, dismayed at the turn of events.

He was going to die by next week, he just knew it.

Kensei entered the kitchen and shut the refrigerator door, even though Grimmjow was still standing there staring at it. "That's not going to change the fact that you have to eat healthy for a while."

"I don' wanna eat healthy."

"Stop being a baby. At least I'm letting you have a farewell party tonight."

Grimmjow brightened at the thought of the high-grade beer in his fridge and the pizza currently baking in the oven, making the entire house smell like hot, mozzarella cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni. He would eat and drink until he burst tonight. He was so not looking forward to waking up and doing such a rigorous workout.

He was probably going to die by the end of tomorrow.

Grimmjow trudged into the living room and slumped onto the couch, grabbing the remote for his ancient TV. _There has to be a game or match on somewhere_ , he thought. He flipped past a sappy romance, the sound of "I'll do anything for you," simultaneously irking his nerves and making his left eyebrow twitch. He went past a badly done western and then past a horrible horror flick. Finally, he rested on a basketball game. The score was 89-101 and the winning team was being merciless. Grimmjow set the remote down beside him on the couch and hunkered in, preparing to enjoy the rest of the game.

Fifteen minutes later, Kensei entered the living room carrying the cardboard case of beer in one hand and the pizza on a silver platter in the other. He looked like a natural waiter. "Heh, all ya need is the white dress shirt and black slacks," Grimmjow nonchalantly commented.

Kensei grinned. "Yeah? Well, all you need is a suit and cigar. You've already got the pot belly."

"Fuck you and gimme my gotdamn food and beer."

Kensei placed the items on the coffee table and took a seat beside Grimmjow on the worn, brown couch that had definitely seen better days. They immediately tucked into the food, Grimmjow with a more desperate urgency than usual. This would be his last decent meal in God knows how long, and he was going to cherish it like it was a precious jewel.

Silence reigned, punctuated with loud chewing and smacking and the occasional belch from Grimmjow, while Kensei watched in awe. Grimmjow only had eyes for the goods littered on his coffee table. He didn't let up until the pizza was gone and he was on his third bottle of beer. Smiling with esteemed satisfaction, he reclined against the couch cushions and rubbed his stomach. Kensei shook his head and straightened up the debris left in Grimmjow's wake.

"Seriously, you eat like a toddler," Kensei said.

Grimmjow shrugged and noisily sucked a piece of pepperoni from between his teeth. "I'own care," he muttered.

A loud cheer from the TV drew his attention to the conclusion of the basketball game he'd been watching before Kensei had shown up bearing gifts in the form of good pizza and beer. The winning team had added thirty more points to their previous score, while the opposing team had been held under one hundred.

 _Sad, really_.

Grimmjow found himself zoning out as he thought about what lay ahead of him. He was worried, but at the same time he was more than excited. Sure, he didn't think he was going to make it past the first day, but he wasn't a quitter and he wasn't about to let some old man and his schedule get the best of him. He would attack this challenge with everything he had and then some.


	3. Pain is Pleasure

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

The disturbing shriek of an alarm clock jerked Grimmjow awake, making him roll clear off his bed, eyes wild and hair in disarray. He glanced around his small bedroom, wondering where the ear-shattering noise was coming from, then growled menacingly when he spotted his silver-haired friend perched on the end of his bed. Kensei was wearing a wide, charming grin, a white, sleeveless tee, and black running shorts; in his left hand was a small, wooden box, clamoring noisily.

"What the fuck?" Grimmjow snarled, glaring daggers at the man.

"Time to get your ass up. We got a long day ahead of us," Kensei responded calmly.

Grimmjow stared at the box in Kensei's hand and realized that it was an old-fashioned alarm clock. The metal bell affixed to the top of the contraption clanged loudly, making Grimmjow sneer and growl. "Shut that shit off already."

Kensei's grin spread as he slowly hit a button beside the bell, finally silencing the annoying ear splitter. "C'mon, we gotta get started. Go wash your face; it'll help you wake up."

Grimmjow climbed from the floor, grumbling the whole way to the bathroom, then did as he was told. He splashed cold water on his face before adjusting the temperature to warm and washing up. He brushed his teeth, went back to his bedroom and slipped on a pair of basketball shorts and a cut-off tee, then sauntered into the kitchen, where Kensei waited, leaning against the counter. Grimmjow rolled his eyes angrily (he really hated getting up early) and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. When he was done, he turned back to Kensei and arched his brows.

"What are we doing first?"

"We'll do some stretching here, then walk to the park. After that, we're going for a two mile run. Think you can handle that?"

Grimmjow took his time opening the bottle of water and taking a long sip. Finally, he locked eyes with his friend and shook his head. "No."

Kensei chuckled and slid off the counter. "Well, that's too bad. Let's go."

Grimmjow grumbled his way to the living room behind Kensei, where the silver-haired man stopped behind the couch and started a series of yoga-styled stretches. Annoyed and not looking forward to the day at all, Grimmjow set his water on the floor and followed Kensei's lead. Half-way through the stretches, he felt his hamstrings and abdomen burning. Just proof that he needed to get his ass into shape.

"Why we gotta do yoga? This shit hurts."

Kensei shook his head and straightened up from his position of downward-facing dog. "It's the best way to loosen up your body. Now, stop complaining. We haven't even gotten to the really hard stuff yet."

"I know. Shit," Grimmjow cursed, nabbing his water. "I already hate that old man."

Kensei guffawed and went to the apartment door, opened it and stood to the side, waiting for Grimmjow to follow him. Grimmjow trudged to the opening and shot Kensei a scathing glare before stepping outside. The heat hit him like a charging bull, threatening to squash him to the ground with its oppressiveness. The humidity immediately caused sweat to form along his brow and along his upper lip. Kensei really expected him to run in this?

Grimmjow abruptly turned around and tried to reenter the apartment, but Kensei had already shut the door. The silver-haired man stood blocking the entrance with his muscular body, one hand held in front of him, swinging a set of keys back and forth, causing the soft jingling to break the silence of the early morning.

"Ya wanna get in, ya gotta work for it."

Thoroughly pissed, Grimmjow flipped Kensei the bird, then turned his back and stomped down the stairs of the stoop. He really wanted to murder his friend at the moment. He knew Kensei had to feel the heat. There was no way he _couldn't_. It sat on Grimmjow's shoulders like an overgrown gorilla, beating at the back of his neck with heavy fists. Sucking his teeth, Grimmjow stalked towards the park. He could hear Kensei behind him, alternating between humming and whistling.

Fucking prick.

They made it to the deserted park in ten minutes, Kensei coming from behind Grimmjow and leading the way to a path that wound through the entire place. He came to a stop, turned and put his hands on his slim hips, giving Grimmjow his sternest glare.

"If we start from here and take the long way back, that'll make two miles. If you feel yourself falling behind, let me know and I'll stop."

Again, Grimmjow flipped the silver-haired man the bird. Kensei shook his head, expression disappointed, but eyes completely amused. After stretching his arms over his head a bit, Kensei kicked into a light trot. Grimmjow ran a hand through his hair and sucked his teeth again. He really didn't feel like running in this heat, but knew that if he didn't start somewhere, he would never get in shape and be able to prove that old fart wrong.

Reluctantly, Grimmjow kicked into a steady jog. So far, so good, but then again, it was just the beginning.

**XxxxxX**

At the half-mile mark, Grimmjow was sweating like a horse, but his breathing was still OK. At the one mile mark, however, he had a stitch in his side that was being very persistent and making it incredibly hard to breathe. Panting and gasping, he maintained his pace. He watched Kensei's back, trying his hardest to ignore the stubborn pain in his side. Kensei didn't even show any signs of weariness, or any other signs that he was running in offensive heat, for that matter. Aside from the large sweat stain spreading down the back of his tee, that is. Other than that, Kensei's stride was perfect and unwavering. Grimmjow felt a spike of envy lance through him. Here he was dying and trying to hide it, but Kensei was perfectly fine.

The one and a half mile mark rolled around and Grimmjow felt like he was about to pass out. He'd run as far as he could, his pace gradually slowing and feet beginning to drag. His entire body was crying out for him to stop the madness and sit his ass down under one of those trees he kept passing. He spotted Kensei glancing over his shoulder, sandy brown eyes amused and concerned all at the same time.

"Ya need to stop, Grimmjow?" he called.

Grimmjow growled, feeling particularly like a charity case. "No!" he snapped, pride rearing its ugly head at the worst of times.

Why couldn't he just say _yes_? He wanted to stop so badly. Then he thought about it. That old man's ugly mug entered his vision and spurred his tired body onwards. There was no way he was giving that old coot the satisfaction of breaking his spirit.

As they reached the last stretch towards his apartment, Grimmjow sped up, his legs and arms pumping furiously. Pain blossomed everywhere, but he refused to give in to it. He sprinted the rest of the way back, lungs burning and muscles screaming bloody murder. Grimmjow passed Kensei, who shot him a look of surprise, silver eyebrows reaching the already blazing sun. Grimmjow's body was on the verge of giving out on him, but sheer force of will kept his legs moving. Kept his feet hitting the ground. Finally, his building came into sight and he pushed himself forward even more, breath scorching his throat and lungs, the heat pinching his skin.

He skidded to a stop before his stoop and immediately collapsed on the stairs. "Exhausted" didn't even do a good job of covering how he felt. He didn't think he could move even if someone pushed him. Kensei jogged into view and took in the sight of Grimmjow's lifeless body stretched over the cement stairs. When the silver-haired man began cackling, the cackle escalating into loud laughter, Grimmjow gave a half-hearted growl in the man's direction. He was so weak, he couldn't even lift a finger and he meant that very literally.

"Ya overdid it," Kensei rumbled, hands on his hips.

Grimmjow grunted his response, head lolling to the side as he tried to avoid the sun's constant glare. Kensei merely shook his head and took a seat beside him on the stairs. There was silence. Kensei didn't seem to have much to say, but thankfully he had a little mercy for Grimmjow, allowing him to recuperate where he was. Actually, that was the only option.

"I didn't think you'd make it, ya know?" Kensei stated, eyes distant.

Grimmjow rolled his head around with much effort, but couldn't speak. His throat felt raw and his lungs were still working overtime to provide him with much needed oxygen. Kensei glanced over at him, grinned, then turned his focus back to the horizon.

"I take it you can't say much right now."

Grimmjow nodded, grimacing at the aching muscles in his neck. He had overdone things. He couldn't help it, though. The fight in him had come bursting forth with a vengeance when he'd thought of that old man's sneering face. That had been enough to get his ass to the finish line, so to speak. He was going to get himself into shape, even if he had to kill himself doing it.

"Well, you've got an hour and some change before we have to start the other good stuff. Think you can make it?" Kensei asked, running a hand through his short hair.

Grimmjow thought about it, eyes closing and head leaning back. Could he really make it through a day of tough training? _Yes_ , his mind supplied. _You made it through the two mile run; you can do anything now_. Grimmjow inwardly scoffed. Now his mind thought he was Superman. _However_ , he did want to get as far as he could with the first day. He knew he wouldn't be able to accomplish everything (the run had shown him that), but he wanted to find where his limit was. That way he could figure out how to surpass it.

After resting for a few minutes, he was able to find his voice. "Yeah. I wanna do it."

Kensei nodded and rose to his feet. He held his hand out, offering to help Grimmjow up as well, but again, that damned pride got in the way. Grimmjow shook his head and slowly, achingly climbed to his feet on his own. His entire body trembled, his legs felt like rubber, and his arms hung limply at his sides like mozzarella sticks. He was indeed wiped out, but he refused to give in.

"M'hungry," he grunted.

Kensei nodded again and produced the key to the apartment, a wide grin curving his lips. Grimmjow frowned at that. Why did the man look so evil this early in the morning? It was only 6:45, yet Kensei was behaving like it was the middle of the day. All that energy couldn't be a good sign.

**XxxxxxX**

Grimmjow stared down at his plate, scowl pulling his eyebrows together. He looked up at his friend across the kitchen table, then back down to the alarmingly sparse plate.

"Kensei."

"Hm?"

"What the fuck is this shit?" Kensei erupted into howling laughter, which only made Grimmjow's mood worsen. How could anyone find humor in what was lying on Grimmjow's plate? "I hope you don't call this breakfast."

"Barragan said you need a light breakfast."

"Kensei, this ain't light. This here's _nonexistent_."

Again with the laughter. Grimmjow curled his hands into fists, one wrapped securely around a fork. He didn't find this situation funny in the least. In fact, it was disturbing. Half a grapefruit, toast and yogurt did not constitute anything near breakfast. That was bullshit. Utter and complete bullshit.

"I ain't eatin' this," he growled.

Kensei sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Then you're gonna starve. Either eat what's in front of you, or go hungry. Which do you prefer?"

"Ya want my honest ta God answer?"

Kensei considered him, then shook his head. "I don't wanna know. No, better yet, I think I already know. Why ya gotta be such a stubborn bastard about everything?"

Grimmjow shrugged and pushed his plate away. "Just how I am. So, does this mean I can get some real breakfast? Ya know, like eggs, bacon, pancakes?"

"That's not light and it'll make you sluggish."

"Ain't that the point a'eatin'?"

"Idiot."

"I'm not eating this," Grimmjow enunciated carefully.

"Whatever. Starve."

With that, Kensei left the kitchen in a huff, back stiff. Grimmjow sighed and stared at his deserted plate. He knew he was being unreasonable and difficult. He even knew that without Kensei's help, he wouldn't be able to discipline himself enough to get in shape. Why did he have to be such a prick? Because it was in his blood. It was natural. The day he wasn't a prick would be the day of the second coming of Christ. He sighed again, reluctantly reaching for the exaggeratedly healthy breakfast. If he was going to do this thing, he couldn't do it half-assed.

He lifted the grapefruit to his mouth and bit down. Sourness and sweetness exploded across his taste buds, making the corner of his jaw ache. He grimaced and set down the fruit, then reached for the slice of toast (without butter, mind you). He wolfed that down without taking the time to taste it, and followed it up with the peach flavored yogurt. Fat free, of course. Which translated to: nasty. Grimmjow went back to the grapefruit, but after another bite, decided to give up on it. It was too much for him. He gulped down a glass of orange juice, then rose from the table, completely unsatisfied and stomach still growling angrily.

He was going to pass out by the end of the day with that kind of sustenance.

Grimmjow blew out an agitated breath and went into the living room. Kensei was seated on the couch, flipping through the channels, refusing to acknowledge him at all. Grimmjow shifted his weight to his left side and glared at the side of the silver-haired man's head.

"I know you're there. I'm not talking to you right now."

"Why the hell not? How am I s'posed to finish this menu?"

Kensei rolled his eyes at the TV, still not looking in Grimmjow's direction. Grimmjow was being dismissed. He growled under his breath and rounded the couch, muscles still screaming. He stood directly in front of his friend and put his hands on his hips, hopefully blocking the TV.

"I ain't eat that shitty breakfast fer nothin'! Get yer ass up and help me get in shape, asshole!" he snarled.

Kensei glanced up at him in shock. "You did?"

"Yeah! Now, let's go. I think calisthenics was next on that old man's list."

Kensei shook away his surprise and grinned. "I'll be damned."

Grimmjow eyed the man on his couch, that feeling of dread slowly creeping back over his shoulders. Why was Kensei grinning like that?

**XxxxxxX**

He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't fucking breathe_. Every muscle in his body seemed to creak and ache and just overall _hurt_. Kensei had put him through a nightmare of sit-ups, lunges, squats, more sit-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, and more sit-ups. Tired was a severe understatement. If he thought he couldn't move _earlier_ , he'd been sorely mistaken. Right now, he was stretched out on the couch, whimpering softly with every intake of breath. Kensei stood over him, wearing a sad expression, hands on his hips.

"Ya look like shit."

Grimmjow's whimper morphed into a low growl. Of course he looked like shit. He _felt_ like shit, so there was no other way for him _to_ look. He wanted to tell Kensei to fuck off, but needed all the energy he could just to draw in air, so instead he ignored the other man. He was still panting pathetically, sweat coating every part of his body. He felt absolutely disgusting.

"Oi," Grimmjow grunted weakly. "C'n I shower? I feel like a puddle of sweat."

Kensei chuckled and sat down on the couch next to Grimmjow's legs. The dipping of the couch made Grimmjow whimper again. His leg had been jarred and the muscles...oh, God, the muscles.

"Sure...if you can make it there," Kensei responded with an evil smirk.

Grimmjow closed his eyes and whined. "You cruel, cruel man."

Kensei laughed again, but this time the dip in the couch was eased as he stood. Grimmjow opened his eyes, watching as Kensei edged over to him. The silver-haired man held his hand out in offering and Grimmjow grumped. How the hell was he supposed to get up with everything on his body hurting like hemorrhoids?

"I seriously can't move right now. Please don't do this to me."

"Well, whattaya want me ta do? Carry your big ass to the bathroom? I don't think so, guy."

Grimmjow smiled. "C'mon, honey. Give the old man a lift, would ya?"

"You wish. I'll help you up, but that's about it. Think you can handle things from there?"

"Ugh. Only if I have to."

Kensei shook his head, but clasped Grimmjow's hand when he reached for it. The heft into a standing position was sheer agony. Grimmjow actually gasped and felt tears coming to his eyes from the intense amount of pain. His legs shook like tree boughs in a hurricane and his back felt like it'd been tenderized. His arms were useless, hanging at his sides like a banana peel. He stood still for a minute, his body involuntarily rocking back and forth in place, until he dug up the energy and courage to move.

One painful step after another, Grimmjow slowly made his way to the bathroom and closed the door. He rested against it for a bit before shoving away and going to the shower, lethargically turning on the water. Steam filled the small room in no time, meaning the water was entirely too hot, but Grimmjow didn't care. He stripped out of his soggy clothing and gingerly eased himself behind the shower curtain and under the stinging spray of water. It felt _marvelous_. All he could do was stand there, breathing deeply and letting the water work its magic. Gradually – very gradually – his muscles loosened and his back pain eased. He bent his head and let the water wash over his soaked hair. God, if he could describe how he felt at the moment, he would have to use sexual lingo, it was that damned good.

Speaking of sex, he hadn't had any in a while. A poor blow job didn't count as sex, in his opinion, so he was due for some much needed relief. He looked down at his equipment morosely. It was times like these that he wished he wasn't such an asshole. Maybe he'd have a ready stash somewhere that he could call for help. But girls didn't really like him much after he opened his mouth; they only thought he was good to look at. Then, he'd speak to them and kill any chances of getting closer to them. He didn't have a brain-to-mouth filter and it showed in everything that he did. Everything that he was. And it really didn't help matters that he only saw women as tools: made for sex and not for talking. He could do without female conversation since they hardly talked about anything other than their looks and clothes. Besides, he was pretty broke right now, so he couldn't afford women the way he used to. When he'd been a prominent street fighter, he'd had women falling out of his pockets, but now, without any funds, they disappeared.

People told him he shouldn't think of women in that way, but hell, he wasn't about to listen to that kind of advice. His mother had ruined any chances women may have had of getting next to him in more than a sexual manner. Speaking of his mother, Grimmjow's thoughts went back to the little pink-haired girl, Yachiru. His little sister. He winced and reached for the shampoo. He wouldn't tell anyone else, but whenever he thought of that little girl, he was consumed with guilt. He'd been so evil to her and all she had ever done was look up to him with stars in her wide, mahogany eyes. Grimmjow sighed as he washed his hair. He couldn't turn around and be nice to her now without looking like an idiot, so he'd just continue to keep his distance.

A strong knock on the bathroom door jerked him from his thoughts. Confused, he yanked the shower curtain aside. "What?" he shouted over the sound of the water.

"Ya want lunch?" Kensei yelled back.

Grimmjow frowned and had a mind to close the curtain and ignore his friend...until his stomach growled loudly. _Fuck!_ Blowing out a depressed sigh, he called out, "Yeah."

There was silence after that and Grimmjow was left to ponder what kind of torture Kensei would provide this time in the form of healthy food. God, he hoped it was nothing green.

**XxxxxX**

Grimmjow stared down at his plate, despair creeping over his shoulder. Not again. He glared up at his friend and pursed his lips tightly before opening his mouth.

"Kensei."

"Hm?"

"Don' 'hm' me, dammit! Ya know what I'm 'bout ta say!"

Kensei broke into a fit of laughter, tears actually coming to his wheat brown eyes. Grimmjow was _not_ amused. In fact, he was quite perturbed. There was _nothing_ Kensei could say that would adequately justify what was sitting on Grimmjow's plate.

"I fuckin' hate you. This is abuse!"

Kensei's laughter increased as he plopped into the seat across from Grimmjow. "C'mon. It's not that bad."

"Like hell it ain't," Grimmjow growled, using a fork to push a few lettuce leaves around. "Ya gave me rabbit food! What're ya tryna do? Make me wither up and float away?"

"It's just a grilled chicken salad. At least there's meat in it."

"Yeah, but tha's kinda ruined with all this green shit around it. Ya _know_ I hate green shit, Kensei."

"If ya keep complaining about it, you'll never get used to it."

Grimmjow sucked his teeth and let loose a loud, exaggerated groan. At least he'd had a shower, so he felt marginally better. "Fine."

Kensei sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, obviously prepared to watch Grimmjow eat. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and dug into the tasteless salad, determined to get through the rest of the day and the hellish menu in his way.


	4. Fruits of Labor

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

**Three Months Later**

His reflection looked back at him, mirroring the smug grin he wore as he turned and appraised himself. Today was the day. Today was the day he'd show that old bastard who was boss. Embarrass _him_ in front of a gym full of guys? He didn't think so.

"Yo, ya ready?"

Grimmjow turned away from the mirror over his bedroom dresser, grin spreading as he stalked to the door. He threw it open and stood on the threshold, blue eyes dancing.

"I was born ready. Let's do this."

Kensei shook his head, but couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "See ya got your cocky back."

"A'course."

Grimmjow followed the silver-haired man to the front door of his apartment, gait a sauntering swagger. He damned sure _did_ have his cocky back. And for good reason. The last three months, he'd worked his ass off, and the results had been superb. Whenever he looked in the mirror now, it was with a strong surge of pride. No longer did disappointment swamp him, making him feel like less than a man. No longer did he want to hang his head and hide at the sight of the slightly toned abdomen and less than impressive chest he'd once had. His body could be considered a work of art these days. His torso rippled like a wash board, every muscle cut and defined perfectly. His legs were strong, thigh and calf muscles equally exquisite. Like he'd said: he had a reason to have his cocky back.

He'd always been good-looking, but now, his appearance had sharpened. His skin was tanned from working in the sun for most of the grueling Summer, making his bright blue hair and eyes stand out even more, and his body was statuesque, rounding off the entire package. He smirked to himself as they trooped from the apartment. He was in a great mood. After getting into shape, Kensei had gone over the basics with him – not that he didn't already know them – but he would admit (only to himself) that he'd needed some touching up. As a result, his punches were faster, harder, and his overall sharpness had increased as well. He felt like there was no one in the world that could beat him, which was how a true boxer was supposed to feel.

As they walked towards Luisenbarn's Gym, Grimmjow took in the balmy afternoon air. It was September, which meant the weather was still pretty nice, but not so sweltering. He only wore a pair of dark-blue basketball shorts and a gray, sleeveless tee. Kensei had convinced him to buy a decent pair of boxing shoes, so they hung by the strings over his shoulder. At the moment, he was allowing his feet to breathe with a pair of black and white athletic slippers.

"What're you so excited about?" Kensei asked, breaking the silence.

"I wanna fight," he answered simply.

There was no other answer he could have given. His nerves were taut, heart racing and body trembling from adrenaline. He couldn't wait to get to the gym and prove that old man wrong. It was like someone had given him a shot of epinephrine; he couldn't stand still. The faster they got to the gym, the better. He wondered what the old man had in store for him. Would the old rascal tell him to work out some more, or would he tell him to show him what he knew on the mitts? Was it too much to hope for a spar?

"Ya think ya got what it takes now?" Kensei continued.

"Hell yeah. What kinda question is that?"

"Hey, I'm jus' askin', ya know? Barragan ain't gonna go easy on ya."

Grimmjow gave him a wolfish smirk. "Tha's exactly what I want. I didn' work this hard fer nothin'."

"You're right. I just hope ya don't go showing off."

"Heh! I got a reason to show off."

"Don't. He doesn't like that. He won't even train you if you go in there actin' like you already know everything."

Grimmjow huffed and folded his arms over his chest. Fuck that. He had a _reason_ to show off. After being sucker punched by that old fart, there was no way in hell he would pass up a chance to flaunt his prowess. He planned to flex all over whatever – or whoever – Barragan had in mind for him. As far as he was concerned, nothing and no one stood a chance against him right now. He was in top form.

"So, what's he gonna do anyway?" he asked with a petulant scowl.

Kensei gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Like I'd tell you that. He'd kick my ass and then some."

"Oh, what? So yer scared of an old man now?"

"No, but that old man ain't normal by any means."

Grimmjow started to retort, but changed his mind. Barragan _wasn't_ normal. He looked like he was about eighty going on ninety, but the man's swiftness three months ago had shocked the hell out of him. In fact, that alone had driven him to attain his old shape. He hadn't been able to believe that a man of that age had been capable of besting him. And so easily, at that. One could say he'd been obsessed after that. He'd been bound and determined to make that old man pay for what he'd done. Now that he had the body of his youth, he would show him.

"Yeah, yeah," he ended up muttering.

Kensei just gave him a sideways look before smiling and picking up the pace. The rest of the walk to the gym was silent. Not uncomfortable, but still silent. Grimmjow had a lot on his mind, what with wondering what Barragan had up his sleeve, and being so anxious about getting to fight for real for the first time in over three months.

He couldn't wait.

**XxxxxxX**

The sounds of gloves connecting with mitts, bodies and sand bags made Grimmjow's heart leap excitedly. As soon as he stepped foot in the gym, his senses went haywire. His eyes darted everywhere, touching on everything briefly before settling on the old man stalking towards him. Barragan's dark eyes were pinned to him, causing his defenses to immediately jump into place. Even though that was the expression the old man had worn three months ago, it still managed to make Grimmjow's hackles rise. What did Barragan have planned? He found himself inwardly asking that question a lot lately.

The older man finally came to a stop in front of him, hawk-like eyes slowly traveling over his body, carefully assessing him. His countenance didn't change, but with Grimmjow's sharper senses and awareness came the ability to spot any minute shifts in appearance. Barragan's eyes glinted with surprise, but the older man was quite talented with hiding it. Anyone else would have failed to recognize it. Expecting the gym owner/trainer to address him, the blue-haired man was surprised when Barragan turned to Kensei.

"Did he work hard?"

Kensei nodded respectfully. "I followed the menu strictly."

"Good," the old man stated, returning his gaze to Grimmjow. "I see you didn't wimp out."

"Oh, yer talkin' ta me now?" Grimmjow asked as he pressed a hand to his chest in mock surprise.

Barragan's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before the man grinned through his heavy mustache. "OK, smart ass. What do you say to a spar?"

Grimmjow felt like any second and his knees would buckle from pleased shock. He wanted to grab the older man and hug him. Maybe swing him around a few times while he was at it. What did he say to a spar?

"I say fuck yes, old man. Thought you'd never ask."

"Heh!" Barragan scoffed before turning his back. "I like 'em cocky. Makes it funnier when they get knocked on their asses."

Barragan could have told Grimmjow the sky was falling, and all he would have done was nod and grin. Nothing could affect his mood at the moment. It was like he'd been handed the keys to a brand new luxury vehicle.

"Shuuhei! Get in the ring; yer sparring!" the old man shouted as he headed over to the ring that was center stage of the gym.

Grimmjow grinned some more, but noticed the look of astonishment on Kensei's face. It didn't unnerve him, but it gave him pause.

"What's that look for?" he grunted.

"Well...Shuu's the guy that you saw me with when I first brought you into the gym. He's pretty quick."

"Oh yeah? I think I owe him one for those smart remarks a'his anyway."

"Don't be too hasty. Shuuhei is pretty good. He's only eighteen, but he's got his pro license and a Rookie Championship under his belt."

"And that's supposed to mean...what to me?"

Kensei rolled his eyes as they meandered over to the ring. Barragan approached them before the silver-haired man had a chance to respond. The older man's face was neutral, but his expression was amused and a tiny bit anxious. He handed Grimmjow a pair of gloves and tape.

"I take it you know what to do with this?"

Grimmjow quirked a brow as he expertly taped his hands. He remembered that much from his days with his Pop in the makeshift gym of their old home. The basement had been transformed into their training room, the backyard a ring.

Barragan nodded and waved him into the ring, where the dark-haired man, Shuuhei, danced in one of the corners, gloves on and ready to go. Grimmjow wasn't big on foot work. He was more of a dig in and get things done kind of fighter. He liked to plant his feet and do as much damage as he could; trade punches with the best of them.

He lifted the middle rope and climbed into the ring, Kensei following him to the corner opposite Shuuhei. Grimmjow slipped on the gloves and adjusted the strings for a better fit before stretching and warming up. Excitement drove a path through his veins, his body restless and heart pounding. He couldn't wait to finally hit someone. It had been way too long since the last time, and now that he had his mojo back, he was like a boiling pot of water bubbling over.

"You might wanna calm down," Kensei said with a smirk.

Grimmjow glanced over his shoulder mid-shadow punch. He grinned at his old friend and went back to warming up, his hands shooting forward with quick jabs, fast straights and even faster combinations. He barely noticed the old man's eyes glued to his form. In fact, all of his attention was on his opponent across the ring. Shuuhei moved around a lot, his feet swift and sure as his punches. His lithe body seemed weightless and graceful.

"Two-knock down rule, four rounds!" Barragan called over the background noise of the gym. He didn't have to get too loud because after that statement, the occupants of the gym went silent as their attention was riveted to the ring. "Hana-chan, the bell."

Grimmjow's entire body tensed at the sound of the bell. He watched as Shuuhei turned towards him and danced to the middle of the ring. This was it. This was what he'd been waiting for, craving for. He slid towards the center of the ring, eyes like lasers as he focused. His hands came up in a standard boxing defensive stance. Shuuhei danced some more, his eyes full of laughter and amusement.

_Is he making fun of me? Or worse, is he underestimating me?_

Grimmjow's fists tightened within his gloves. He'd show this ballerina what he was made of. Shuuhei's jab shot forward, quick as a mouse, but Grimmjow's instincts helped him block the blow. It wasn't heavy, but it was sharp as a blade. If he took too many of those, his face would resemble a bruised apple. He allowed Shuuhei to circle him, feeling him out with more of those lightning-fast jabs. Until the dark-haired man stepped into his comfort zone. Grimmjow lashed out with a perfect one-two. Jab, straight. Shuuhei stumbled back, his guard blown away from the sheer force of the blows. The expression on his face was almost comical to Grimmjow.

Ha! Take that, kid.

He hadn't managed to get a clean shot – Shuuhei's reflexes were too polished for that – but the mental damage was done. Grimmjow knew he had an abnormally powerful punch, but being able to show it off some was a lot better than having the knowledge all to himself. Shuuhei went back to circling him, trying to find an opening. Grimmjow would admit that the kid was a lot faster than he was, but based on what had occurred so far, he had the better fighting instincts. He guessed it was a result of all the street brawls.

Suddenly, Shuuhei darted forward, planting a fist into Grimmjow's gut. Shock and a smidgen of uncertainty made Grimmjow pause, but after the first few seconds, he realized that he was OK. He'd worked nonstop on his gut, so little bites like that didn't effect him the way he thought they would. He grinned and lifted his hands, tightening his guard.

Hit me there all ya want, kid. You won't get the results yer expectin'.

Tired of playing the waiting game, Grimmjow edged closer until Shuuhei danced into his comfort zone again. By the look in Shuuhei's eyes though, it appeared that he was expecting Grimmjow to make the same moves he had made previously. Grimmjow smirked as he did a quick sidestep and pivoted his foot, twisting his whole body into a perfect right body blow. Shuuhei buckled sideways, but Grimmjow wasn't ready to let him rest just yet. He followed up with another body blow to the younger man's left side. Shuuhei bent double, but Grimmjow urged his chin upward with a sharp uppercut. As Shuuhei's body was sent sprawling backwards, Grimmjow dashed forward and put all of his weight into his right fist, sending it flying into Shuuhei's face. The dark-haired man hit the canvas with a loud thud, out cold.

The following silence was only interrupted by Grimmjow's excited panting. He still had his guard up as he stared down at Shuuhei's prone form. When he was finally able to tear his eyes away from Shuuhei, he glanced around the gym, smug satisfaction settling over him. Everyone eyed him with awe and appreciation. Jaws were slack, eyes were wide as baseballs, and bodies were rigid with shock.

"Holy shit," one man mumbled.

"He knocked out Shuuhei?!" another man exclaimed.

"Nice one, newbie!" someone else shouted.

Grimmjow almost bristled at the "newbie" comment, but his pride was on a thousand, making any other emotion null and void. A short, dark-haired man smacked the canvas from Kensei's corner with a wide grin before stalking off towards a door on the opposite side of the gym. Barragan was nowhere to be found. Grimmjow scowled and turned to Kensei.

"Hey! Where's the old man?!" he shouted.

Kensei's eyes were on Shuuhei, but at the sound of Grimmjow's voice, he faced Grimmjow and stared, mouth slightly open. Grimmjow's scowl transformed into a wide grin.

"Don't look so surprised! I toldja I wanted ta fight!"

"I-I...I just. I've never seen Shuuhei knocked out before, let alone so quickly. I dunno what to say."

"Where's the old man?! Why'd he leave like that?!"

"I didn't even see him leave," Kensei muttered, voice faint. Then, his eyes lit up. "I think I know where he is. Stay here."

Kensei jogged over to where the little dark-haired man had disappeared, and closed the door behind him, leaving Grimmjow to his thoughts. A few of the gym members had retrieved a bucket of water and were trying to revive Shuuhei, but no dice. The younger man was still completely out of it. Grimmjow went to the nearest corner and leaned against the post, his arms draped over the ropes.

That had been so damned fun.

XOXOXO

Kensei stood in Barragan's office, arms folded over his chest. The older man was positioned near the office window, his back facing Kensei and arms folded across his own chest. Hanatarou was seated on the couch, eyes lit with amusement and excitement.

"Where did you find him, Kensei?" Hana asked.

"He's an old friend of mine. I ran across him the day I first brought him here. He was interested in getting back into boxing. His dad was big on the sport way back when and groomed Grimmjow-"

"Hn!" Barragan interrupted. He didn't turn around as he said, "He's got a monstrous punch. I haven't seen that kind of power in many years."

"Yeah, I remember how kids used to be scared of him in high school, but I thought he would've lost it since he hasn't been in action in so long."

Finally, Barragan turned and faced Kensei. "Make sure he keeps coming. I like his attitude, and his potential is astounding. We'll make a true demon out of him."

Kensei grinned and nodded. "Yes, sir! I'll let him know."

He left the office, his eyes immediately drawn to the ring where Grimmjow reclined against the ropes and Shuuhei was still sprawled on the canvas. He still couldn't believe how quickly Grimmjow had knocked him out. He'd expected at least two rounds of fighting, but he'd underestimated his old friend. Sure, Grimmjow was eager to fight; sure, he had a wealth of knowledge of the sport under his belt, but the blood lust and precision the blue-haired man had displayed had taken Kensei way off guard.

He stalked over to the ring, and posted up beside Grimmjow. "So, whattaya think? Wanna call this place home yet?"

Grimmjow's intense blue eyes speared through him. "What'd the old man say?"

Kensei chuckled. He figured Grimmjow wouldn't show his hand so hastily. "He said he wants you to come everyday from now on. Says he's gonna make a demon outta ya."

Grimmjow's feral grin crinkled the corners of his brilliant eyes. "That works for me. 'Sides, I'm still itchin' ta fight."

"Slow your roll, Goku. You have to do some more training. Your guard is damned near nonexistent, and you could up your speed some. Though I gotta say, your natural instincts are way above par. Jeez, you scared the shit out of Shuuhei."

Grimmjow seemed surprised. Blue brows lifted and his beneath bright blue bangs. "What?"

"When you hit him the first time and blew away his guard, I could tell you put the fear of the Lord in him. I don't think anyone in the sport hits as hard as you do."

He hadn't wanted to stroke the man's already inflated ego, but the truth was the truth. Grimmjow had one helluva punch.

"Awww, thanks, honey."

Kensei rolled his eyes as he leaned against the canvas. "Whatever. So, you gonna keep this up or what?"

Grimmjow paused and seemed to think it over for a few seconds. After what felt like forever to Kensei, Grimmjow shrugged, but the smile he wore told the real story.

"I think I like it here."

Kensei smirked as he turned to Shuuhei, who was finally coming around. Man, with a punch like Grimmjow's, anything was possible. He couldn't wait to see what the blue-haired man had in store for them.

XOXOXO

"Alright, kid, get your gloves on and get in the ring," Barragan ordered.

Grimmjow didn't necessarily like the brusk manner in which Barragan spoke, but figured if he wanted to get stronger, he would have to deal with it. He did as the old man said and slipped into the ring.

"What now?"

Barragan had practice mitts on his hands and positioned himself in the middle of the ring. "Let's practice some combinations. It seems like you have a decent grasp of jabs and straights. Show me what else you know."

Grimmjow smirked. That was all he needed to hear. He heard his father's voice in his head as he went to work on the mitts. One-two. One-two. Upper. Body. Body. Upper. Hook. Hook. One-two. Jab, jab, jab. Straight. He went on that way for a full round, the timer bringing him out of his zone.

For a change, he noticed a pleased expression on the old man's face. "Gooooood, good, good, good. That was a full round of fighting. Let's do a few more. We need to get your stamina up to par before we work on your speed."

It was the first nice thing Barragan had said to him since they'd met. Frankly, it threw Grimmjow for a loop. He hesitated as the buzzer went off, signaling the next round.

"What's the matter? That all you got?" the old man rumbled.

Grimmjow crouched into a defensive stance and growled under his breath. He couldn't let the old man's unusual behavior keep him from his goal. He went at the mitts again, using all of his power and all of the tension he'd built up over the years. It felt wonderful. He was flying high on a cloud of sheer awesome when the buzzer went off again.

"Good! At this rate, you'll be registering for your pro test in no time."

Who was this guy? Grimmjow was used to abusive language and indifference, not support and encouragement. He shook his fists and rotated his shoulders, trying to ease the fatigue that was slowly beginning to set in. His chest heaved from the exertion and when he glanced at the old man, he noticed a look of amusement that immediately set him on edge.

"What?" he barked.

Barragan scowled and swiped at his head with a mitt. "Shut up and get ready for another round."

Grimmjow had to grudgingly admit that he was starting to like the old man. He was strict, but sensible, and his advice was spot-on. He could learn a lot from him. Grimmjow got into position again and waited for the buzzer. His life at Luisenbarn gym was just beginning, but he was looking forward to every moment of it.


End file.
